


Cookies to Ice

by trilogiesrule



Series: Rowaelin Parents Oneshots [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Next Generation, Next-Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilogiesrule/pseuds/trilogiesrule
Summary: Fenrys loses Aelin and Rowan's 5 y/o daughter in the middle of Orynth, only for her to return with an interesting request.**This precedes a story I will one day write about their daughter in her teenage years. I have similar oneshots like this on my ff.net account**
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Series: Rowaelin Parents Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748749
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Cookies to Ice

Myshette Whitethorn Galathynius was lost. Completely lost. She had been walking around the city with Fenrys, which was fun, but then she scented cookies. And she was sure they were sugar cookies, which were only ever available near Yulemas (it was the middle of the summer). So, naturally, Myshe did what any reasonable person would do. She wandered away from Fenrys in pursuit of the cookies, and she felt her magic blow her scent in the opposite direction. Myshe smiled at that--it was rare that her magic cooperated with her wishes.

After she let go of the golden-haired warrior’s hand, Myshe simply followed her nose. It took her down the street of shops and upstairs apartments, past the fountain built in remembrance of those who fell in the second Valg wars, around the corner onto a street of bakeries--  
She paused. Where did the treats go? She was so sure she had smelled them, so Myshe kept wandering, now with no trail to follow.

***

“What are you doing in this part of the city, girl?” a woman’s voice asked. Myshe looked up at her, wide-eyed. She found herself in a filthy alley, and heard laughing, moaning, and screaming from the various buildings. She had been out for most of the day now, and her stomach grumbled at her lack of lunch. An hour or so ago, she tried to find her way back to the castle, but with every turn it just seemed to grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

The princess began shaking. She started to back out of the alley, never breaking eye contact with the beautiful woman. Her dress pushed up her breasts in a way that she had never seen in her own court, and it was short. Too short. A tattoo snaked around her wrist.

Myshe didn’t know what, exactly, Lady Lysandra had done before she met her mother, but she knew enough about it to recognize the people she needed to run from. This woman in the alley was one of them. Myshe desperately wished she was better at shifting--when she tried to fly away in her hawk form, the magic wouldn’t rise to her skin.

“Where are your parents, child?” The woman’s voice was gentle--sweet, even. But her eyes gleamed with the promise of danger. Myshe wasn’t about to stick around to find out what, exactly, this woman had planned. “Come with me, and I’ll give you a treat,” she went on, “and then we’ll go find your parents.” Myshe knew that she should do no such thing, but then she hesitated, remembering the cookies from earlier in the day.

“What kind of treat?” she asked softly. The woman’s smile grew, exposing a gleaming silver tooth. She took a step forward, and Myshe flinched.

“I’m glad you’re interested,” she crooned. “Sugar cookies, of course. The kind you receive at Yulemas.” The woman started walking towards Myshe now, and the princess decided that even sugar cookies weren’t worth whatever horrors waited for her if she went with the woman. She turned to run.

The laugh that sounded behind her sounded too much like a cackle. Myshe just kept running, feeling her magic flare up to her skin. She shivered.

Not now, she told it. Begged it. Ice danced below her skin.

“Arnold, get her!” the woman snarled. New footsteps sounded from behind. A man’s, judging by his gait. Myshe kept running, and when she heard the sound of a dart from behind, she ducked. When she picked her head up, she saw the dart would have missed her head anyways, as it was stuck in the neck of a man who lay crumpled on the ground--bottle of whiskey in hand--to her left. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Where was she?

More darts fired, and by a combination of the princess’s magic and training, none of them found their mark. The man, Arnold, kept chasing her. With every step, Myshe felt her fear growing. Her silver hair kept falling in her eyes, but she didn’t dare push it out. It covered up her fae ears, anyways, which kept the reason for her endurance from the strange man.

Even so, she could feel herself tiring, and knew that if she was going to make it through this chase, she had to find a place to hide.

“There’s shame in hiding,” Lochan had said last Yulemas. “Only cowards hide.” She had asked her father about it later. He had scowled and told her not to listen to Kaedyn Lochan for training advice. “Actually,” he’d added, “go ahead and add Asterin Blackbeak-Crochan to that list. She tends to tell you the wrong things, too.” Then, he had crouched down and looked her in the eye. “If you’re ever in danger,” he’d said with serious eyes, “and you can’t win in a fight against your opponent, you run, Myshe. Your safety is always the most important.”

Myshe paid attention to that advice now, searching for a safe street to turn onto. She might find a little shop to duck into.

***

Hours earlier, Fenrys Moonbeam found himself in a bit of a predicament. He’d spotted a flower cart and was about to offer Myshe a flower for her hair--a pretty flower for such a pretty lady--when he’d looked down to find her gone.

Fenrys considered himself to be fairly calm in dire situations.

But this was so much more than a dire situation. He’d lost Myshe. The little Whitethorn was worse than her mother when it came to raising hell, and just as powerful with using her magic to hide her trail (even if it wasn’t intentional) as her father.

Rowan was going to kill him--if Aelin didn’t get to him first. Gods, what was he supposed to do? He’d spent the better part of the morning searching (in fae and wolf form) and asking around about the princess. No, the baker that Myshe always wanted to buy cookies from hadn’t seen her. Yes, the sky had been clear of hawks. No, no strange ice or wind had appeared out of nowhere. Yes, Madame Lillith had been prowling the streets, looking for orphaned girls to add to her brothel.

The last one caused him to send a small group of guards to the slums of Orynth to shut that down. Lysandra had convinced Aelin to do her best to do away with prostitution years ago.

Finally, Fenrys decided to head back to the palace--even if it had to be shamefully--to recruit the rest of his guards, Aelin, and Rowan in the search. Gods, they were going to kill him.

But if he was being honest, his impending death was the least of his problems. Myshe was missing. Myshe. Who listened to everything told to her with wide eyes and an innocent heart. Who had just as much magic as her father and less desire to learn how to use it than Lorcan had desire to be pleasant at court gatherings. She had basic self-defense training at this point, but that would hardly suffice against Lillith and her various guards.

He took some comfort in the fact that even if Lillith captured the young princess, her silver hair, pointed ears, and spontaneous magic were dead giveaways to anyone living in Orynth as to who she was. Myshe couldn’t be hidden.

As he strode up to the entrance to the castle that was used most often by its residents--a small, guarded door around a corner from the formal main entrance--Fenrys’s face was stone. One of his guards nodded at him, but the warrior didn’t waste time with formalities.

“Find a messenger to tell the various guards around the city to search for the Crown Princess.” The boy’s eyes widened, but it was clear that he knew better than to say anything to Fenrys as he nodded. He moved into the castle to follow his orders. Fenrys glanced at the other guard (a friend of his) and rubbed his brow.

“Good luck with Her Majesty,” the man snorted. “You’re really in for it this time.” The guard quirked a brow, brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he said, “she’ll show up. She always does.” Fenrys shook his head. Usually, Fenrys didn’t mind disrespect from his guards (particularly this one), but today wasn’t just any day.

“She’s never disappeared while in the city. It’s one thing for her to wander into a corridor no one knows about. It’s another for her to disappear with Lillith on the loose.” Fenrys spoke with the same ice he’d heard in Rowan and Lorcan’s voice when they were still serving Maeve. Blood drained from the guard’s face at those words. He was silent. Fenrys dropped his voice so that no one--even someone with fae hearing--in his vicinity could hear. “That information doesn’t leave this conversation. Clear?” A curt nod. The fact that Lillith was out would likely cause an uproar amongst the nobility, and that was something that Fenrys didn’t have time for.

If the castle had been empty, Fenrys would have shifted and run up to the council room where Rowan and Aelin were currently in a meeting in wolf form. Unfortunately, the various servants were easy to spook and quick to spread rumors. Terrasen’s inner circle may have been built on friendship and righteousness, but the rest of the court was still a court. 

Gossip spread like wildfire, and stories shifted quicker than the Lady of Carraverre. With every step, Fenrys’s heart pounded louder in his chest.

When he made it to the council room, he didn’t bother with knocking as he shoved open the door.

“Captain Moonbeam--” one of the lords started. He held up a hand to silence him, consequences of disrespecting superiors be damned.

“I need to talk to you and Aelin,” he panted, speaking to Rowan in the Old Language. To hell with not upsetting the other members of the castle, he supposed. Nothing made them more skittish than when the fae didn’t talk in the common tongue (as if they were planning a mutiny, or something). Fenrys silently cursed himself for using the Old Language, but it was what he’d grown up with, and whenever he was particularly nervous or scared, it was usually what rolled off of his tongue.

He saw Rowan glance at Aelin--likely conveying the message to her through their silent language--while the room broke out with various reprimands aimed at him.

“Captain, with all due respect--”

“Speaking that language in our presence--”

“I knew that brute was an awful choice for Captain of the Guard--”

Rowan and Aelin walked over to him, the latter putting a hand on his shoulder. She glanced at him, almost-hidden concern flashing through her turquoise eyes. “I can smell your fear,” she murmured. The queen turned to the council. They fell silent as she addressed them. “If Captain Moonbeam has important news,” she said coldly, “then we will hear it. I assume that he didn’t run all this way to ask about dinner.” Fenrys felt Rowan’s eyes desperately searching his face, and he ignored the question of Myshe? that was sure to be written across his face.

Aelin quirked an eyebrow and gave him a look that clearly meant Well?, but Fenrys shook his head. Her annoyance at this meeting being interrupted would be nothing next to how she would react when she learned that he’d lost her daughter in the middle of Orynth. He jerked his head towards the hall.

“You two need to hear something.”

***

Myshe had found a little embroidery shop with racks of dresses she could hide in, then later continued wandering down the streets. The sun was beginning to set, and she was scared. Daddy had told her about wicked men who prowled the dirty parts of Orynth at night, and that she must do everything in her power not to let them take her. Arnold had to be one of those men.

“What are you doing in here, little girl?” asked a voice from behind her. She started, and didn’t dare to turn around. Myshe ran out of the shop, and she couldn’t stop shaking as she heard the several pairs of feet in pursuit. The magic was getting harder to keep at bay, but the freezing wind chilling her blood wasn’t what scared her.

It was the lick of flame that shot out of her hand.

Myshe cried out, finally unleashing the wind and ice. That fire…she hadn’t known it was there. It shouldn’t have been there. Galathynius blood was thin as gruel compared to her Whitethorn blood--as diluted as it might have been. The men behind her shouted as they thudded to a now-icy street. Her eyes burned with tears--with the impossibility of ever getting a grip on the horrible magic.

A misplaced step had her tumbling to the ground, but not before she saw a short woman walking towards her from the direction of a pond.

A pond that she had frozen solid.

***

Aelin stormed out of the castle, using all of her willpower to keep herself from turning Fenrys into a human torch. Rowan had already shifted, choosing to scan for their missing daughter from the skies. Not for the first time, the queen wished she had an animal form. Her fae body was too recognizable, and a frantic queen would send a fairly bad message to her citizens. She had to stay calm.

The idea was ridiculous. Stay calm? When Myshe could be anywhere--the slums, a brothel, on the ground with a knife through her--

No. Aelin refused to think that way. And if any of those things did happen to Myshe, she wouldn’t bother leashing her magic the next time it shot to Fenrys.

She tried to keep a straight face as she walked through the streets, sniffing and scanning for the silver-haired girl. Briefly, she saw a hawk land on a nearby rooftop, only to take off right afterwards. The light was running out, and--

“Mommy?” Aelin whipped her head to the side. A tall, slender woman with hair tied in a tight bun was holding her daughter’s hand. Myshe. Myshe was safe. A choked sob escaped Aelin’s throat, and she ran to her, wrapping her arms tightly enough around the princess that she squirmed. “I’m fine, Mommy.” Aelin crouched down, holding her daughter’s face in her hands. Myshe was making an annoyed face, and clearly believed her mother was being overbearing. Aelin half expected her next words to be “territorial fae bastard”--she knew that was the same look on her own face whenever she said those words to Rowan. She almost smiled.

Aelin straightened, suddenly remembering the woman. “Thank you,” she said tightly. “One of our guards took her into the city today and...” She shook her head. The woman gave a small smile.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “your daughter is quite gifted.” Aelin blinked.

“How do you mean?” she asked as a hawk landed on her shoulder.

“It’s the middle of summer and she froze an entire pond.” Rowan shifted at that, landing beside Aelin in a flash of light. Myshe ran to him and grabbed his leg. He ruffled her hair before grabbing her hand. Aelin knew he likely wouldn’t be letting go. The woman tilted her head.

“I instruct Orynth’s figure skating group. The pond she froze is one of our practice areas. In the summer, members of the group grow their strength and improve their balance. Now, however,” she said, smiling at Myshe. The little girl beamed in response. “Now, a handful of them are practicing, and it seems to be a pity for this to happen near nightfall.”

“My daughter’s magic remains unpredictable,” Rowan said. “I’m afraid that freezing an entire pond isn’t something she’s prone to doing on command.” Myshe scowled and tried to drop her hand. He refused to let go, and Aelin bit her lip to keep from smiling at the battle between the Tiny Tyrant and her father.

“Let Miss Gwen talk,” she demanded. Rowan coughed--a failed attempt to hide a laugh. That little girl had him wrapped around her finger.

“I understand her power is raw and untamed, Your Highness.” Her voice was smooth. “I don’t mean use her power to freeze a pond, but rather, I have a request.” Myshe seemed to take that as her cue to turn to her mother and give Aelin her signature puppy dog eyes. Those eyes were deadlier than any weapon Maeve had ever wielded, and her cunning little pinecone knew it. “I was wondering, if, perhaps, Princess Myshette might learn to figure skate. I start most children at her age.” Aelin blinked in surprise.

“Well...”

“Please, Mommy? Please please please? I promise I’ll work really hard on my magic if you let Miss Gwen teach me.” Aelin looked at Rowan. She deliberately avoided Myshe’s eyes.

I don’t see why not, his eyes said, and he shrugged. Then he added, Your choice. But please, be quick. She’s about to break all the bones in my hand if she grips it any tighter.  
Aelin snorted. One of the corners of her lips twitched up.

“You, young lady,” she said, finally making eye contact with Myshe, “will spend the next week helping muck out the stables.” A glare from the princess. “But,” Aelin added, “once you finish your punishment for sneaking away from Captain Moonbeam, you may start training.” Myshe’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Miss Gwen. The young woman grinned at her. At the exchange, Aelin realized that she likely wouldn’t be able to keep her daughter away from the ice if she tried.

That night, Myshe had gone to bed without a fuss, saying that the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she would put on skates. It seemed that Aelin was correct.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tear my writing apart! I write to get better, and I'll never do that without criticism. :)
> 
> Let me know if the formatting is awful--this is my first time posting on ao3.
> 
> Also, I can't figure out how to italicize. The silent conversation stuff between Aelin and Rowan was supposed to be in italics, and it's irking me. Does anyone mind helping out a clueless idiot?


End file.
